Background
Thirty something, Jameson, meets seventy something, Iris. They bond over coffee. This is the story of their unlikely friendship.
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This novella is written in dual first person points of view. Each chapter will be marked at the beginning as to who is narrating.
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So far, thirty something, Jameson Petry meets seventy something, Iris. They meet on a regular basis for coffee and talk. Jameson had a nice weekend with his three year old son, but his estranged wife, Claire, still refuses to talk about their faltering marriage. Iris reminisced about her late husband.
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JAMESON
I push the little caddy that holds the sugar packets and sweeteners over closer to Iris. She's unusually quiet today. Not sad or depressed, per se, but not her usual self. I wait until she's poured the sweetener into her cup and has finished stirring it, before starting our conversation. "How was your weekend? "
"Truly exciting."
I can't tell from her voice if she's being sarcastic, but one look at her face and I see that she is.
"I changed the sheets on my bed, then Saturday night I watched a movie."
"Oh? Which one?"
"I thought it was going to be a western. But, no sir, it was not. Apparently, cowboy movies have changed since John Wayne's heyday." She looks at me pointedly, her eyebrow raised.
"Did you watch Brokeback Mountain, Iris?" I try my best to stifle the amusement that is building inside of me.
"It was some kind of mountain," she mutters. "You know what's funny? Gertrude recommended it. I sometimes wonder about her." She lifts her cup up to her lips and takes a small sip. "So, tell me how your time with your son was."
"Really good. We went to the Aquarium, went for a few walks, ate crap from McDonalds, played with some toy trucks. It was a whirlwind weekend." I can't help but smile.
"I used to play trucks with my brother, John. My father would sometimes bring one home from the feed and grain store in Roanoke."
I shrug. I try to picture a young Iris. I'm guessing she was a tomboy. Protective over John and probably didn't know fear like most little girls.
"I had a couple of Tonka trucks when I was little," I say. I'm sure I asked for things like that once upon a time, but once I learned to read, I just wanted books for Christmas and birthdays.
"Daniel had several of those. They're probably still in the attic."
I think about how hard it had been to say goodbye to Fin yesterday. I can't help but wonder how Iris made it day after day. "I'm sorry, but how'd you survive after losing him?"
Iris looks down at her cup for a few seconds then looks at me. "I didn't have a choice, Jameson."
"But you're so happy. I doubt I'd ever smile again."
"I hurt for a long, long time. Cried myself to sleep. I cut my friends off and almost shut Lou out. But, that wasn't fair. He lost Daniel, too. I just knew I couldn't go on like that. I went to grief counseling. I knew I wasn't alone. There were people from all walks of life. But what helped me the most was hearing a man who had lost his wife and twins in a house fire say one simple thing. He said that every morning when he wakes up he has to make a choice. He has to choose to be happy."
Her eyes look wet, but no tear escapes. "I realized that wallowing in sadness wasn't going to bring him back."
I shake my head. "You are a remarkable woman, Iris."
The sunlight from the coffeehouse window shimmers off of her silver hair. "So tell me, did you get a chance to talk to your wife?"
It's my turn to look away. "We didn't. She was busy when I got there and gone when I brought him home." I look up at her hesitantly. "You must think I'm a fool."
"Nonsense. If you think your marriage can be saved, don't give up. But it takes two willing people to make a marriage work."
"Her sister, Mandy, says Claire is done."
"Jameson, I'm so sorry. Maybe you should just ask her point blank. Have you talked to a lawyer?"
I look up quickly. "No. Of course not. I'm not giving up yet."
"It's not giving up. You just need to protect yourself ... and Finny. You'll need some sort of custody arrangement."
"But we haven't even discussed divorce."
Iris reaches over and covers my hand. "Sweetheart, your wife isn't discussing anything right now. I just wouldn't want you to be unprepared ... just in case."
Her words are from her heart. She means well. From a practical perspective, it makes sense. But I can't be practical. I can't bring myself to give up that last tiny shred of hope I'm holding on to.
Her hand pats the top of mine. "I've overstepped again. Forgive me."
"I probably need to hear it."
She sits back in her chair. "Did you take any pictures this weekend?"
I pull my phone out of my pocket. I let her scroll through the dozen or so pictures. She takes her time with each one, pausing to ask a question or make a comment.
"He's adorable. Looks like his daddy when he smiles." She hands the phone back and then reaches into her purse for hers. "I have a favor to ask. And just understand you are under no obligation to agree. Okay?"
"Sure."
"Can I put you down as my emergency contact with my doctor?"
"Of course."
"I have Gertrude, my friend, as my contact now. Well, quite frankly, she's dreadful in a crisis."
She's smiling but won't look me in the eye. "Iris, is everything okay?" I ask.
She bites her lip, thinking before she answers. "I'm having some issues with my heart."
"Like bad issues or just age related stuff?"
"I'm just going to lay it out there for you. No sense beating around the bush." She let's a small laugh escape. "I have congestive heart failure."
I frown, waiting for her to expand on that. When she doesn't, I push for more information. "What does that mean?"
"It's not good. To be blunt, my heart is starting to give out. It's getting weaker and sooner or later, no, I'm not going to pretend anymore. There is no later. Soon it's going to give out on me."
Panic rushes through me. I can't lose Iris. I'm just getting to know her. "What about medicine? Isn't there a medicine that can fix it? Or at least slow it down?"
"I've tried several different medicines. Either the side effects are horrendous or they just don't work."
Sweat peppers my brow. "What are we talking about, a couple of years?"
Her hands reach across and both wrap around my hand. "Six months, give or take a month or two."
I sit there, shell shocked, unable to ask anything else. But I have a million questions to ask. But not now. She squeezes my hand gently.
"I'm sorry, Jameson, I should never have imposed on you. I'll leave Gertrude as my contact."
"No. Please. I'll do whatever you need."
Iris smiles. "You're a good boy, Jameson. I'm lucky to have found you."
